The Special Child
by xAmericanxIdiotx
Summary: Jimmy isn't normal. With these unnatural nightmares that somehow come true, these constant head aches and strange visions of a yellow eyed man. All she wants is to forget that, to graduate high school and go to college, getting away from her small town. But all hell breaks loose when two brothers come back into her life. {Rated M for language and some *things in later chapters.}


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**~ Prologue ~**

_*A/N: Hey guys, my first fanfic! Okay, I just want to say I'm new at writing this stuff so... you have been told. I'd really appreciate reviews, so I can know what to fix and stuff. So... yeah! :) Hope you all enjoy! :)*_

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I was normal. Ya know, just a regular high school student. I got up every weekday morning, got dressed, dragged my ass out of the house, went to a seven hour hell, got home, repeat. Life just became a routine… and I was okay with that. I liked the safety of a routine. There was something about my life though… something that I couldn't put my finger on. It was, almost, supernatural.

Ever since I was little I knew I was different. I didn't like the same things that the other kids did; I wasn't social like them, in fact, I was so alienated that people thought I was sociopathic. That was rude of them, I mean, just because a kid cuts off another little girls ponytail because she was being a bossy little bitch doesn't make someone insane, right?

Years passed after that, though, and I grew up. My step-mother died, from breast cancer, when I was in fifth grade. Right after my father and I had gotten back from her funeral, our house caught fire. We bolted from the house, with nothing but the clothes on our back and what we could grab in such short notice. While we were stood outside, watching the flames engulf the building we called home, I heard my father whisper something, something that sounded like, "not again." I didn't understand, I still don't now, but that's not important.

Two years after the house fire, my father and I moved out away from the forested mountains of West Virginia, where I was born and raised, and to this little town in the rural area of Kansas. Of course I protested, but my father was too stubborn to take my whines into account or change his mind. The first thing I did when we got to the new house was leave. I dropped off my suitcase up in my new bed room and walked out. My father called after me, but just as he did to me, I ignored him and kept walking. I had no idea as to where I was going, but I kept on going and going until I reached the local diner in the center of town.

_Matt's Barbeque Roadhouse_, read the neon sign hanging above the peeling wooden door. I shoved my hand into my pocket, feeling around for my wallet. When I found it I thought 'why not.' It was warm inside the diner, a multitude of voices rang out, laughing and coughing, drowning out the country music playing overhead, there was a distinct smell of beer and barbeque sauce swirling through the air. It brought a smile to my face. 'Something different,' I thought, going to sit in an empty booth in the back of the crowded, little roadhouse. I pulled my hood down off my head and sighed, slumping down in the seat.

To my right there was a cough and I looked up. A waitress in a white shirt was standing there with a menu and a large, crocked grin. She handed me the menu, pulling a pen and a pad of paper from the apron tied around her slim waist. She was a pretty woman, well, girl, she didn't look to be more than seventeen, maybe eighteen at the most. Her hair was a reddish color, pulled back into a messy ponytail. She had round, bright green eyes that sparkled with mischief and laughter. I smiled back at her, sitting up properly.

"Hi," she said, flashing me a toothy smile, "I'm Tracy. What can I get ya to drink?"

"I'll just have water, thanks."

Her hand paused as she wrote and she looked back up at me with a confused glint in her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at me.

"You ain't from here, are ya?" She asked, her accent drowning some of her words.

I understood enough of them and shook my head sheepishly, folding my hands in my lap.

"I shoulda known!" she laughed, "I haven't seen you 'round here before. Didja just move here?"

"Yeah, literally like ten minutes ago," I laughed humorlessly, twiddling my thumbs.

It seemed like she noticed my awkwardness, because the next thing she did was sit herself down in the seat across from me. My head snapped up, and I looked at her in wonder. She was different from most people who I knew, most would've just said, "suck it up," and moved on. I was pleasantly shocked at her.

We sat in silence, just looking at each other. She tapped her dull nails against the cool wooden surface of the table. Time ticked by, both of us not saying a word. She sighed, and, finally, asked me a question.

"What's yer name?"

I blinked at her for a second, and then, slowly, I started to smile. I reached out my hand across the table to shake hers.

"I'm Jemma, but I go by Jimmy."

"Jimmy," she said, giggling, "well, Jimmy, whatcha gonna get to eat?"

I looked back down at the one page menu and ran my finger down till I found something that sounded good. I told her what I wanted and she stood up, taking the menu and turning away and walking towards a little hallway at the back of the room. I sighed, shifting in the booth so that my back was pressed against the wall. I brought my knees up into my chest, placing my feet on the leather seat.

My eyes flicked around the little diner, taking in everything all at once. At the bar there were many people laughing and talking downing one drink after another. In the center of the diner were the more tame people, there were friends and couples just having a nice dinner, with conversation and steak and hamburgers. I noticed that some of those people, namely a big burly looking man and two boys with him, were looking at me. I subconsciously reached into my boot and found that I still had my pocket knife and phone. I sighed in relief when Tracy walked back with my hamburger and chocolate shake a minute later.

"Here ya are, Ms. Jimmy," she placed my food in front of me, disappeared and then reappeared a second later without her apron.

She slid back in the seat across from me and folded her hands on the table. I cocked my head to the side as I picked up my hamburger. I groaned quietly as I took a bite, the taste of heaven floated across my tongue. 'Best damn burger I've ever had!' I thought.

She laughed, "I take its good?"

I nodded, wiping the corner of my mouth with my sweatshirt sleeve. After chewing multiple times and swallowing I took a drink of my milkshake. Creamy and chocolaty. Again, it was heaven. I gulped down half of the shake before I came back to my senses and saw that Tracy had her phone out and was recording. I looked down at my plate and realized that it was empty. Sheepishly I laughed, wiping my mouth with my sleeve again.

"So," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "why are you sitting here?"

She closed her phone, looking somewhat offended. I quickly corrected myself, "not that I don't want you here, but, it's just that I thought you were working."

She smiled in understanding, explaining to me how she got off at six and that I was her last table. I pulled back sweatshirt sleeve and looked down at the watch that my dad had gotten me for twelfth birthday last April. 6:19. Oh. So that means I finished an entire large hamburger in less than twenty minutes.

I grinned, "new record."

Tracy looked at me curiously, her head cocked to the side, "what?"

"New record," I repeated with a laugh, "I have never eaten a burger that fast before."

Tracy smiled with me, laughing lightly at my childish statement. I couldn't help but let my thoughts about this place change. At first I thought it would be hell, ya know; that I would be alone, have no friends and things like that. But now that I've met Tracy, if more people are like her I think I might like this place.

We went on for the next forty-five minutes just talking to each other. We played 20 Questions basically. She asked me a question; I answered her question and then asked her one of my own. By 7:20, most people had gone. It was just me and Tracy, the big burly guys with two kids, the owner, Matt, who Tracy had introduced me to, and a few couples left in the roadhouse.

Matt walked over to us, throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder. He clapped his hands together and sighed, "alright ladies, time to leave. We're closing up." I shrugged and jumped up from my seat, shaking hands with Matt and Tracy and saying a polite goodbye. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man and two kids start to stand. I thought nothing of it – well, not much – and continued on out of the diner. I pulled my hood back up as the cold wind hit me like a brick. It was August, albeit late August, it shouldn't be that cold!

I continued on down the road, humming some random tune as I walked, till I heard the scuff of shoes against the asphalt. I stopped dead in my tracks, whipping my head around. In the darkness, behind me, I could make out three shapes, one bigger than the other two. Without a second thought I took off running. I knew that they would be following me, but I ran anyway.

Within minutes I was home. I barged in through the door, slamming it shut and looking every lock there was. But I knew that I still wasn't safe, so I sprinted up the stairs and into my room, ignoring my father, who was shouting at me from his new office. I grabbed my small suitcase and unzipped it quickly; ripping out clothes and such till I found the tin box beneath it all. I removed the lid and picked up the pistol. Of course my dad didn't know that I had it, but I thought that one day I might need it.

I loaded the gun quickly, yelling to my dad what had happened. That I went into town and went to the diner and that when I left three people had followed me home. I heard him sigh, and his footsteps across the creaky floor, then he was passing my door and going down the steps. I jumped up and ran after him, shouting at him to not go near the door. He did anyway, of course, and I stood behind him, pointing the barrel of the gun just over his shoulder.

"Jimmy…" he sighed, unlocking the door and slowly pulling it open.

My finger was on the trigger, ready at the slightest sign of danger or threat. The door creaked open and standing on our front porch, smiling, was the man from the diner, with the two kids standing behind him. I was ready to shoot when my dad sighed in exasperation.

"Jimmy, put the gun down!" he ordered, "they're not dangerous!"

Hesitantly I lowered the gun, but I never took my finger off the trigger. My dad invited the people in, telling them to ignore me and my craziness. He motioned for me to come to him, and I did as to make sure he was safe.

"Jimmy," he said with an exasperate breath, "this is-"he paused and ripped the gun from my hands. "Jimmy, this is John Winchester."

I didn't take the hand he so courteously held out, I stood glaring at him instead. My father elbowed me in the side, a stressed sort of smile on his face as he looked down at me. I grumbled out a hello and my dad went back to introducing the strangers in the foyer.

He motioned to the smaller of the two boys who stood at John's left side, the boy with shaggy, semi-curly, brown hair and bright hazel eyes, "this is his son, Sam Winchester."

I waved shyly at Sam, as he looked incredibly awkward standing behind John. Sam gave me a small, toothy grin back and he waved slightly. Again, my dad elbowed me, making me flinch. I put my hands behind my back, lowering my head, breaking eye contact with Sam.

Dad went on to introduce the last boy, the taller one, who had short cut dirty blond hair and murky green eyes, as Dean Winchester, Sam's older brother and John's eldest child. My dad explained to me that their situation was similar to ours, about having a mother who died in the house fire thing. He told me how John, Sam and Dean traveled around the country, visiting relatives and friends, and going sight-seeing. He said that we were their next stop.

John and my dad sent us kids out, telling us to go up to my room, suggesting that maybe Sam and Dean could help me get things ready for bed. I ended up leading the Winchester brothers up to my barren room. I closed the door when they stepped in, Sam going to sit on the bed, Dean just standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his jean pockets.

"So," I started slowly, "why are you guys staying here?"

Sam shrugged, "we usually stay at a motel, but there isn't one close by."

Dean moved closer to Sam and lightly tapped him on the shoulder, telling him to scoot over. Sam shifted so that Dean could plop down beside him. I was still stood by the door, just watching the brothers do whatever. Dean stared out the window over top the little table next to my coverless bed, while Sam twiddled his thumbs.

"How old are you guys?" I asked as an ice-breaker.

"Twelve," and "fifteen," were the mumbled responses.

I slowly moved to pick up the discarded pieces of clothes that I had thrown minutes ago. I asked them another question, who their favorite superhero was.

Dean perked up, "Batman!" He answered instantly, "he kicks ass!"

I rolled my eyes, turning to Sam. He didn't answer; he seemed too busy with his thumbs. I didn't push him to answer, just told them my own.

"Personally, I like Hawkeye, I think he's cool."

Dean snorted, elbowing Sam, who laughed dryly. I confused me, why Sam was being so strange. But I guess I could understand him. I threw the clothes I picked up in a corner of the room, silently declaring that corner the 'dirty laundry corner'. When that was through silence fell on the room. I moved over and picked up my little suit case, putting the top back on the tin box as well. I threw both of those in the closet. 'Soon,' I thought, 'this will not be so clean.'

"Why are you called Jimmy," I looked back and saw Sam staring at me, his head cocked to the side.

I shrugged in response. I explained to him how I didn't like being called Jemma, but how I had a friend called Jimmy when I was younger and I thought his name was cool. I told him how it was him who started calling me Jimmy. Inwardly I laughed, because most people who asked that wondered, also, if I was slightly insane or gay.

We stayed silent for the remaining time, or well, until john called down Sam and Dean for something. I sighed and went into my father's room. I grabbed a sheet and blanket from an open box labeled 'Bed Things.' I slowly trudged back into my room and made my bed up. I was about to collapse into sleep when I remembered that I had no pillow. I groaned in annoyance and walked back into my dad's room, snatched up a random pillow and walked back out.

I threw my pillow down onto the bed and collapsed. I kicked off my shoes, with much difficulty, and pulled the blanket up over me. I shrugged off my jacket, tossing it into the dirty laundry corner, and shoved my face into the pillow. I was swimming in and out of consciousness, black spotting my vision. At this point I was too tired to care about whom or what was entering my room, so when the door squeaked open I didn't care.

When coldness washed over I shivered, curling up into a ball, shoving my face deeper into the pillow. A weight, who I assumed to be my dad, shifted the bed, causing me to slide down the side. My arm came in contact with something cold, like leather. I wanted to move, to open my eyes and see who was sitting beside me, because I now knew it was not my father. I struggled to open my eyes as I felt coldness on my face, my ear.

I froze stiff, my muscles going rigid like a steel pole.

"I have plans for you, Jemma Scotts."


End file.
